The Perfectionist

Under the Sky

Under the moon, she sits. She thinks. And she wonders if things are all it should be.

It occurred to her that distance didn't make the heart grow fonder, but it just lived by its name. If distance was all there ever was, wouldn't it be easier?

Under the stars, she sits. She wishes. And she wonders if the stars could hear her. Why is the future such an unknown?